


Take Me to Church

by dinosaurApocalypse



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning, I think so anyway, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, i promise its not actually as bad as it sounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:54:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29201679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinosaurApocalypse/pseuds/dinosaurApocalypse
Summary: Adam sits in a church and prays to the love of his life.
Relationships: Michael/Adam Milligan
Comments: 7
Kudos: 24





	Take Me to Church

Hozier's _Take Me to Church_ plays softly, playing from nowhere, echoing through a saint's church, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once, and the church is empty except for one person. This person who's kneeling in the middle of the church, staring at the stained glass window of the saint himself. Saint- well, it looks nothing like him, but there's a familiarity there- he knows him.

"What the fuck," he says, broken and tired and much too old for the body he's in- much too old to be nineteen, but he's been nineteen for ten years and has stopped being nineteen over a thousand years ago. "No, seriously, what the fuck. It wasn't supposed to be like this."

Because it wasn't, he was never supposed to be alone. Not since the last time he felt the cage around him, the memory of teeth tearing into flesh- Was it his, was it someone else's? Whose memory is it? Which one is he now? He knows, but he doesn't want to remember. Sometimes he forgets, but he remembers, always, the feeling of grace-soul and the burning warmth that never went away. It's a supernova condensed into something to be held and cherished and loved. Something- some _one_ he loved.

The music keeps playing. The boy - man - being isn't sure if its just his imagination or if it's really there, but it doesn't matter. It never mattered. They hum and crackle and play anything their hearts desired, and it simply is. It simply was.

He doesn't blink, doesn't feel the need to, not tearing his eyes away from the image carefully crafted from glass. He thinks of glowing blue, of fire that doesn't burn, of soft smiles and quiet admissions and wonders where it all went wrong.

"You weren't supposed to die, asshole." He's angry, of course he is, he knew when it all started to end that he'd be nothing more than dust and diners in heaven- but this, this wasn't meant to happen. His other half wasn't supposed to shatter into pieces and die too. He had to have known they'd come back.

Didn't he?

But he understands. He does, now that he feels the same maddening silence, feels the ache and hollowness where there should have been someone else. It's enough to make him desperate too.

That's why he's here, isn't it? Desperation to be close again, to be together again, and he'd laugh at the irony of a Hell-worn soul sitting in a church of the God who killed him- No, not of God, of _him._

"Come back to me," he whispers to the glass, staring into the unseeing eyes of the saint. This isn't the first place he's been, nor the first time he's been here, and he knows that if anyone were to find him that he'd be given pitying stares. The uncaring eyes of the glass saint stares back at him.

"COME BACK, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" His screams echo with the music that may or may not be playing anywhere except his own mind, desperate for something to fill the silence where someone else used to be, and it hurts. Of course it hurts, and he wonders what else is left. He screams, again, desperate and raw unlike anything they've ever let loose in the cage or otherwise, broken and alone.

_Alone._

He sobs, then, empty and alone and hurting. Scared, so afraid, because he was never meant to be alone. He wonders what that makes him.

_There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin_

In love with a dead man- in love with an archangel. Love is the gentlest, cruelest, worst sin to exist, and death is the punishment. He has committed this sin unapologetically, and for that, he has lost his life and love. It's cruel of them, he thinks, to bring him back yet keep his heart and soul away. His other half.

He's only one half of a being, now. Maybe this is his punishment. He wishes they left him gone, then, locked in the deepest parts of Hell to be forgotten and loved by a saint. The saint.

The only one who matters.

He doesn't know if he's been there for minutes or hours, days or weeks. Forever or not that long. Perhaps once upon a time, a lifetime ago, a thousand and two hundred or only ten years ago, he would have cared. Maybe his knees would be stiff, maybe his feet would be numb or his eyes tired, but none of that happens now. The music continues to play, singing its sad melody to the empty church or maybe just his own mind.

He still doesn't look away from the glass.

“Please, come back to me,” he whispers, clasping his hands together to beg or pray. One and the same to him. Praying is begging to a higher power that doesn't care, except his higher power _does_ care about him. He has to.

They're all they have. He's all he has.

The glass eyes of a dead saint continues to stare at him, sad and judging, wondering why he's still here, why he still comes. He doesn't answer the question in the window saint's eyes. They already know the answer.

“Mich-” He chokes on the name, guilt and grief winding their way around his chest and _squeezing_ like serpents, like the snake in the garden, and he can't breathe through his sobs. “ _Michael_ , please.”

It could be seconds or hours later- Time is subjective, time is for those who need to keep track, he is not one of them. It could be any amount of time, with him kneeling on the floor, with him staring at the glass eyed angel, the soft melody still playing, echoing, when it happens.

The building shakes and a bright light pours in through the windows and all around him, and he knows. Of course he knows the supernova, hot and consuming, but never burning and never hurting.

Michael.

Adam feels the question more than hears it, and as he tilts his head back he whispers the only prayer he’ll ever need again.

_Yes._

Grace pours in, fills the emptiness that settled in his ribcage and winds around what remains of his broken soul and heart, healing and repairing in its burning glory. Michael comes in, comes home, and makes them whole again, and as they settle and heal and come together, Adam whispers his confession of sin to his love, his other half, his savior, his _god._

“I love you.”

They chuckle, grace and soul- their grace-soul pulsing with joy and completeness, with love, with devotion and worship.

Whole again.


End file.
